


Return of the Not Them: Jon Edition

by putyourpantson



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst? Sort of?, Archivist Sasha James, Author attempts horror, Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I tried writing horror okay, M/M, NOT ACTUALLY THAT MUCH VIOLENCE AUTHOR IS SIMPLY PARANOID, No beta we kayak like Tim, Not Beta Read, Not-Them Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, also not brit picked im very american, author does not know horror, author sobs, being stuck in a web table isn't either but it should be, getting ripped apart and put back together isn't a tag but yeah, i am so sorry my little ones, i saw this and then took two business weeks to write it, im gay okay u guys, to the tune of stacey's mom; Martin's home.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29313642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/putyourpantson/pseuds/putyourpantson
Summary: I saw this au idea, went 'oh cool' then took like 2-3 weeks to write it and now I can't remember who thought of it soooo...yeah. lmaooooooo-----He’d been separated from them all. That much was certain.He had wanted to save Tim from his own ridiculousness, and Sasha had been otherwise occupied, but then he had somehow ended up in the archives’ artefact room.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker (mentioned)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32





	Return of the Not Them: Jon Edition

He’d been separated from them all. That much was certain.

He had wanted to save Tim from his own ridiculousness, and Sasha had been otherwise occupied, but then he had somehow ended up in the archives’ artefact room.

He had never worked there, but he had heard of the stories, the rumors of objects that caused misery and death and fear. If any of the statements he had read about surrounding the items locked up in there were any indication, there was 

Yet, the worms were surrounding him, and he could not stop. He ran into the artefact room, his tape recorder clutched in his hand.

It was quiet inside. He couldn’t see any worms, couldn’t see much of anything in the dark. In the silence and vast loneliness and terror that filled his heart, he started to talk.

“I never worked in artefact storage,” Jon wasn’t sure who he was saying it to. If anyone is listening, he could not see them. He still felt  _ watched, _ but he still saw no one. “I know you did, Sasha, but I never did. Don’t be surprised when I say that...I just do know. I didn’t have the strength or anything like that to survive working in the storage. I... _ did _ apply, but Elias told me that I would be much better suited for the research department. I never looked back. And now...now I may very well die in this room. That’s, well…” He knew all too well that the word he was looking for was  _ ironic, _ but he refused to say it. “Lucky. Lucky, I guess. I’m lucky to have survived this long, though if Jane Prentiss were to kill me now, then I suppose I’m not very lucky-”

A shadow shifted, and Jon nearly jumped out of his shoes. 

“Who’s there?” 

No answer.

“I see you. Show yourself-I- I see  _ you-!” _

He doesn’t remember what happened next, just the shadow advancing and tearing him apart, and the pain of having all that he was splitting at the seams. The pain of being known and forgotten completely and thoroughly filled his body as he was forced into the table, watching helplessly as some  _ other _ man, a man with blonde hair and a sweet smile popped out in his place, looking around serenely.

And thus went Jonathan Sims, research assistant to Sasha James at the Magnus Institute.

“Jon, if you could just-recount what happened in the archives during the attack,” The Archivist, Sasha James pleaded. Jon gave her a smile. “Of course. I was with you until I ran out to save Tim. Then we were separated, and I fled into the Institute proper. I pulled a fire alarm, because the worms were following me, and I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. I went to Elias. We talked. We were going to save you, but the worms came, and I fled into the Artefact Storage room. You know I hate the Artefact Storage room, so it must have been bad.”

Sasha didn’t ever realize that the man sitting across from him was not, in fact, Jon. She also didn’t know that inside the table, the real Jon was fighting tooth and nail to return to his existence he used to so enjoy.

But he needed to have an opening to escape from. He needed a bit of air, for someone to split the wood of the strange table apart so he could  _ live.  _ He crawled up the grainy wood, his lungs collapsing and yearning for the strength that he once had.

And throughout his struggle, he  _ learned. _

He learned of the truth. The entities, the fears, the Archivist. It became branded into his brain, like a cow who was unwillingly marked for the slaughter. Jon would normally groan at the pun, but now was not normal. Now was not the time. It made his stomach twist, and he remembered Martin’s stupid mug with the pun. Well. Could he remember the mug? 

No. 

No, now that he thought of it, he couldn’t remember what the pun was. 

He climbed faster.

“Hello, Martin,” Jon greeted Martin with a smile one morning. “It’s nice to see some rain, isn’t it?” The sky had indeed seemingly opened up and dropped it’s contents onto the city.

Martin only blinked at Jon. “Er. Yeah, I suppose.”

Jon smiled at Martin, and moved past him, presumably heading into the building. Martin ignored how his stomach hadn’t fluttered like normal, or how his face hadn’t turned red while looking at Jon.

Perhaps he’d gotten over his crush faster than he thought he would. 

Huh.

Martin didn’t usually like to knock on Sasha’s door, to bother her while she was working, but well…

This was sort of urgent. Okay, well, maybe not  _ urgent _ , but he felt as though it needed some attention.

“Sasha?” The door swung open, and Sasha blinked before smiling up at him.

“Hey Martin, nice to see you hanging out around here. How are you?”

“I’m-well, I’m okay, mum’s been-wait. Wait, sorry, that’s not what I came here for.” Sasha tilted her head, like a curious puppy or like a strange puppet. “Have you noticed something... _ different _ about Jon recently?”

Sasha thought for a moment. “Not really. Why do you ask?”

“I...well…” Martin swallowed. “He’s been a lot nicer recently. It’s...well.”

Sasha only grinned at him. “Right. Well, back to work Martin. I’m sure if someone replaced Jon with a polite stranger we would know.”

Sasha didn’t remember the conversation until Melanie King had come to visit them. Well, more specifically Jon, since they’d had a grudging friendship since he took her statement. Which Sasha couldn’t find anywhere, now that she had been looking for it.

“Hi Sasha,” Melanie said as she entered. “Where’s Jon? Gotten rid of him, have you?”

“Sorry?” Sasha turned away from the mess in her office. “He brought you down here.”

“No, that was some other Jon? He didn’t look anything like Jon.”

“Huh?”

“Well,” Melanie looked properly befuddled, “First off, he’s never had blonde hair. He definitely wasn’t white, and he had a bunch of gray hairs mixed in with black, you know? This other Jon looks like a baby compared to Jon the actual old man.” 

Sasha continued frowning. “No, I swear, that’s always been Jon.”

“No, it hasn’t?”

Sasha only realized something was afoot when she finally found the recording of Melanie’s first statement, as taken by Jon. 

_ “Please state your name and the subject of your experience.” _

That wasn’t Jon.

_ “Into that? You’re joking.” _

_ That wasn’t Jon. _

If that wasn’t Jon, then who was it?

Or…

Sasha looked out the window of her office to where she knew her assistants were working. Where  _ Jon _ was working.

If the combative man on the recordings was really Jon…

Then who was that, sitting outside her office?

It didn’t take her long. Reviewing the statement of case 0070107, plus some others that she borrowed from the police officer that had begrudgingly agreed to help her, she pieced exactly what was happening together.

She knew that destroying the table would either save Jon, the  _ real _ Jon or doom him.

But she knew she had to try. And she also knew she couldn’t do it alone.

So she dismissed Jon early, and brought Martin and Tim into her office. They looked relieved, like they thought they knew what was coming and they couldn’t wait to get out of there.

“Do you two remember case 0070107?”

“Yeah,” Tim says at the same time Martin goes “Huh?”

“The one with Graham Folger? The…” Sasha grimaced, remembering how much fun Tim had had with the one bit in the story that wasn’t relevant at all. “The notebook eater?”

“Oh yeah,” Martin nodded. “That one, yes. Yes I do.”

“Great. Now, tell me, do you remember this man?” And she turned the recorder on. The real Jon’s voice, bored and skeptic, filled the room.

“I-” Tim’s face clouded. “That’s supposed to be Jon.”

“It  _ is _ Jon, actually.” Sasha replied. “This is the real Jon.”

“Well then  _ who- _ ”

“That’s why you’re both in here. Come with me.”

Sasha didn’t like Artefact Storage. She had worked there for three months, and she had hated every moment of it. Too creepy.

So it seemed ironic, and also rather unlucky for her to be visiting the place again with a hatchet in her hand and two of her friends by her side as she went to go save her other friend.

Martin was the most nervous, giving out a shout every time the light shifted. Tim was pretending to be brave (Sasha ignored how it was likely due to him trying to impress her, since it wasn’t doing all that much in the ways of impressing her). They found the table with some difficulty, and Sasha couldn’t help but stare for a moment. 

Jon was in there. She was sure of it.

Clinging to the surface, Jon vaguely recognized the fact that Sasha was there. He could sense her power, raw and untapped as it may be. He did not care that he could be hurt if he clung closer to the hard wood of the table. He wanted to return to his friends, to take his leave of the horrid world he found himself in. He had always pretended that he didn’t care what happened to his coworkers, but the truth was that they might have been some of his closest friends. Tim, Sasha, and Martin were the only people he felt close to anymore. He clung to his memory of them, hoping against hope that he could return to the life he’d known.

And then the table split open, tearing into his own skin. And though it burned, it tore at him, the table was  _ open.  _ He pushed through with all his might, and miraculously left his dark prison.

The man that had jumped out of the table was doubled over in pain, and Sasha still didn’t quite recognize him.

But she  _ knew. _

She  _ knew _ it was Jon, there was no way he was anyone else. He looked older than the NotJon, looked angrier, looked…

Blood.

Blood was seeping through his shirt, but as a terrible screech sounded through the room, it was forgotten.

_ “HOW DARE YOU TAKE MY PRISONER-”  _ Ah. NotJon was here. Strange timing, really. He could have come like, two minutes earlier, but nah. Eh well.

The real Jon, injury and the NotJon’s distortion be damned, jumped into action and pinned the NotJon to the ground. He reeled back his fist, and slammed it into the NotThem’s face. It was a blur of Jons from there, and Sasha could only watch in wonder as Jon stood one final time and kicked the unconscious body of NotJon to the table, where it seemed to seep into the table and disappear. The table mended itself, and Jon suddenly straightened himself up. 

“I don’t think any of you have a cigarette?” His voice that Sasha had heard on the tape recorder so often shook. Tim snorted.

“How did we ever think the other one was you?”

When Jon had been given a cigarette, (Tim had run to the Booth’s down the road to get him one,) he sat at a bar stool and smoked it nervously. Tim, Sasha, and Martin had insisted he do it inside, but they were regretting it quite a bit as they watched Jon shakily inhale and breathe out more smoke than a malfunctioning fog machine. 

“So,” Sasha said after Jon had been rid of half the fag. “I have to ask, what...happened?”

Jon paused a moment, before blowing out a rather large billow of smoke.

“Well. First off, Elias is a rat bastard.”

“Oh, obviously.”

“Agreed.”

“Hate that bitch.”

Jon smiled for the first time since he had returned. “Yes. Well, see, the Entities…”

“The whats?”

Jon sighed, and more smoke erupted from his lips. “I suppose I’ll have to make a statement.”

No one said anything, but Martin scrambled to get a tape recorder for Jon’s statement.

And, dear reader, you already know the rest of this particular piece of information. You know of the fourteen (almost fifteen) entities that live and torment the world. You know of avatars, of how love means nothing in those eyes that can see all. You already know of the plights that Jon faced, how he wormed his way to the surface, how he clung to the hard grain, how he was forced into the table in the first place, and the horrible pain of being completely unknown after not having a secret to his name for so long.

His friends, of course, did not. As Jon gave his statement, his cohorts’ faces grew paler and paler. As Jon described the plight of his disappearance, how Elias had lied and deceived them, how killing Elias would kill them all. Sasha’s expression grew grim as Jon explained the powers of the Archivist. How giving live statements would cause nightmares, force people to relive their terror. How Sasha would randomly Know things. How, because of Elias’ plotting, the rest of her comrades would have to make sure she didn’t interact with the other entities, especially the more violent ones.

Jon finally finished his tale, and extinguished his cigarette in the carpet of the Institute. (Tim silently wished in that moment that he smoked as well so he could do the same.) “Well. That’s all I really have to say. As far as I’m concerned, the NotMe has lied to all of you, and you all don’t recognize me. I’m not sure as to our next move, but we should regroup, and try to plan things out.”

Sasha blinked, and rubbed her temples. “Statement ends.” She turned off the tape recorder, and stood. “Well. That’s a wrap, I suppose. I...how long do you think you were in there?”

“I have no idea,” Jon sighed and looked wistfully at the remains of his cig in the carpet. “It might have been ten years or three days, it still felt like an eternity.” Martin gingerly handed him a cigarette, which Jon refused with a shake of his head, a strained smile on his face. “We need to plan out a game plan, so to speak. We have to figure out how to end the apocalypse, and how to stop Jonah-er, Elias.”

“Same guy,” Tim said with a small laugh. “We’ll just call him Fucker.”

Jon nodded solemnly. “Right. We need to stop that Fucker.”

“Well, it’s been a day,” Sasha said, looking at the clock. “And I don’t know about any of you, but I seem to need some time to process, plus some sleep. I think it’d be best if we all head home.”

Jon coughed, and it was then that Sasha remembered that the NotJon had not paid his rent, and that his stuff was in a box at his apartment complex. Wait, how did she know that? 

Ah. The Archivist abilities, of  _ course. _

“Well, Jon. Since you can’t really go home, I guess you can stay at one of ours. Tim?”

“Hey, don’t look at me, I’ve already got the scary cop on my couch.” Sasha sighed, and turned pleading eyes upon Martin.

Martin spluttered. “I-Well, I only have-! And mum’s only just-!”

“It’s alright, Martin,” Jon said with his tight smile. “I can sleep in the archives.”

If there was anything that could have really procured Jon’s spot in Martin’s guest room, that was it. Other acceptable answers would have been ‘I think you’re rather swell’ or maybe ‘it’s alright I’ll go to my boyfriend’s’ or something similar may have convinced Martin. However, offering to simply sleep in the archives was the most effective one, even if Jon didn’t quite realize how effective it would be.

“Well, I...I  _ suppose _ you can stay at mine,” Martin was attempting to keep the blush out of his cheeks, and horridly failing. “It’s not very neat, but it’s still-”

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure, Jon. It’ll...it’ll be fine.”

_ This is fine _ . It was fine. 

Martin had now seen three different versions of Jonathan Sims, one of which was incredibly rude and negative, one that wasn’t even him, and one that had been strangely sweet and positive. Two of which, he had had a crush on. And now the real Jon was in his flat and he loved him (or, at least, he had a crush on him? He didn’t really know right now, his thoughts were going a million miles an hour and he was scrambling to catch up,) and now they were flatmates.

Jon was strangely polite. Like he’d gone through an entire video game but forgot to quick save so now he was stuck at level three instead of the level 1000 he had been at, and was talking to a character he knew would die.

He jumped about a foot in the air when Martin brushed by him to put his key in the door, and Martin couldn’t help but suspect that something had happened inside the table. Something worldview changing had happened to Jon. (Something  _ other _ than the Entities, that is, Martin corrected in his mind. The information about The Entities alone were rattling, but something else was off about him.)

Jon gave Martin a shaky twitch that Martin was sure was meant to be a smile, and Martin swung the door open.

“It’s not much, but...it’s home, I guess?” Jon was surveying the room carefully, and he nodded once before heading for the couch. “I-um, Jon. You don’t have to sleep on the couch, I’ve got another room, it’s just a little bare, that’s all.”

Jon’s eyebrows furrowed, and Martin tried not to stare. “Are you sure you want me to sleep in your extra room?”

“It’s an extra room for a reason?” Martin hated how his voice made the statement sound like a question, but he supposed that sometimes life was just like that. Sometimes you have to be incredibly awkward for no reason whatsoever. Martin had more moments of these times than the average human, but as it was turning out, so was Jon. 

Jon allowed himself to be fretted over by Martin, allowed Martin to haltingly ask if his wounds are healed or if he’d like some assistance with the rather large slash across his front. Jon assured Martin that he was just a tad stained from the whole ordeal and would require no medical assistance, but accepted some tea.

It was strange to Martin, how Jon was so quiet now. How he smiled at Martin whenever Martin offered him anything, even if he didn’t say yes.

It was stranger still to Martin how his stomach fluttered at every instance of contact and talking to each other. He hadn’t felt this for  _ months, _ not with the fake Jon, or the NotJon or the imposter, or whatever they were calling the... _ thing. _

Either way, Martin intended to keep Jon out of it’s way for as long as possible.

Martin awoke the next morning with a start. His mind supplied the fact that he was in the guest room, and that he must’ve slept there next to Jon. 

Oh. OH.

_ Oh dear. _

Yet as he looked over at the other side of the bed, no one was there. He heard another bang and he started for the kitchen.

Jon was in his living room, looking rather like an insulted and tired kitten at a recipe book. 

“What are you doin’?” Martin mumbled as he looked around his kitchen. Pots and pans were scattered around, and Jon jumped as though he thought he were all alone in Martin’s flat.

“Well, I was going to make us breakfast before work, but...I’m afraid I couldn’t really find anything here to actually  _ make  _ anything…”

Martin’s head spun. “You’re still going to work?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well. I. I, um. I thought it might be better if you stayed home, you know? Like, to rest?”

“Oh. But you were going to work, and…” Jon blushed and looked away.

Well. It seemed that some things definitely changed inside the table. And call Martin an idiot, but he could find subtext in the thickest of books, and Jon was currently tossing him a rather flimsy leaflet at the moment. 

“Well, I’m sure I could skip work for today. We could...talk.” Martin feared for Jon’s neck as he turned around so fast he nearly snapped it off. “And more, and all that. There are a few things I think the two of us need to catch up on…”

Elias spat out his tea on Monday when Martin arrived to work with the real Jon’s hand clutched tightly in his, a smile on his face.

“See you ‘round, Elias,” Jon practically sang as he walked past.

Sasha and Tim gave a round of rather loud wolf whistles when Jon and Martin walked into their shared office, clapping like someone had scored a point in a sportsball game. Jon blushed, rolled his eyes, gave Martin’s hand a final squeeze, and crossed over to one of the blank walls. 

“I have an idea I know may be helpful to us and harmful to Elias, are you in?”

“Definitely.” Jon didn't care who said it, only pointing to the big expanse of the blank wall.

“A theory board on this wall.”

Tim, Sasha, and Martin exchanged a look and shared a silent laugh. How had they ever thought that the other Jon had ever been him?

Indeed...at least they managed to get Jon back, friends. We’ll see about next time, which may come sooner than later… 

Until then, I suppose he’s lucky. Lucky to be alive, lucky to actually exist with his friendships and his boyfriend. Lucky to be everything that he is…

Lucky to be himself, isn’t he? 

Ah, well. We'll see about next time...

**Author's Note:**

> tell me how I did???? uhhh yeah im not used to writing Actual tma content lmao
> 
> anyways, come hang out with me on tumblr, the side I use for fandoms is godsavethetinycowboy , but my main where I occasionally post fics and also memes is womaninherittheearth !!!!


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